Blog Archives

It’s probably safe to assume that Uncle Jeff has a hairy chest and arms, as well.

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Thanks to Jessica for sharing her 7-year-old’s astute, concise observations detailing the only real meaningful difference between males and females.

Speaking of being observant, this is a great time of year to discover some hidden gems in your children’s backpacks as you decontaminate and disinfect clean them out. Please consider submitting these treasures to Stuff Kids Write! (No, we’re not referring to the rock-hard, half-eaten cheese sticks; we mean the humorous school assignments.)

And have a terrific Father’s Day, all you hairy beasts out there! Just don’t go shedding all over everybody!

“I give my students a survey to complete at the end of the year. I use the information when I write my final report cards. This was from one of my little boys (2nd grade). Jayden was another second grade boy, and for a 7-year-old, he did have a lot of girlfriends!”

Moral of the story?

Being good at math doesn’t necessarily add up to more love from the ladies.

Leanne Shirtliffe (aka “Ironic Mom“) — the far-better and far-more-female half of Stuff Kids Write — has published a book!

Please check out her humorous parenting memoir titled Don’t Lick the Minivan by either clicking here or on the book’s cover you see to your left (no, your other left). Then buy it.

If you’re a parent, you’ll laugh and nod knowingly as you read Leanne’s honest, hilarious description of life with her twins (not those twins: her kids). If you’re not a parent, the book is a reasonably-priced form of birth control. Either way, it’s a win for you!

Following is a post from Leanne which first appeared on Stuff Kids Write in May 2011. It’s funny in a cringe-worthy sort of way and gives you a pretty good idea of what you can expect from Don’t Like the Minivan.

Soccer night. Two kids on two different teams playing at two different fields. I have enough equipment to load down a trio of Sherpas. My husband is at a meeting and, as usual, I’m barely coping in my attempt to get everything and everyone out the door. I send Vivian and William outside while I gather the last of the gear, which includes my mitts and sunglasses (nothing says soccer season in Canada like contrasting accessories).

The door slams behind me. I notice Vivian and William collecting rocks on the side of our driveway.

I load the last of the stuff and walk around to open William’s side of the van.

I see this writing:

"William" (with sad face above)

“Did you use a rock to write on the van?” I say. Sometimes you have to ask the obvious.

Vivian looks at me. I can tell she’s stalling. “I’ll just crawl in William’s side,” she says.

“You didn’t write—“ I interrupt myself. “Did you carve things too?”

I walk over to the other side.

I see this.

"Vivian only" (with scratches on the left, where she was trying to get the rock to work properly)

And this.

"on behalf of my class" (yes, she's composing dedications)

My kids know by my speechlessness that they’ve done wrong.

I rub my index finger across one of the gorges. “This won’t come off,” I say. “Ever.”

Any game involving those is a perfect fit for flatulence. After all, breaking a bit of wind might provide a slight boost in propulsion, and it makes a pretty terrific sound effect. (Just don’t leave any skidmarks.)

And if you didn’t want to get caught underneath the parachute before, just wait until someone pulls the ripcord on one under there!

Do you think they put that hole in the middle of the fabric for ventilation?

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Thanks to Shelley for sharing her daughter’s note with Stuff Kids Write. It’s no stinker, that’s for sure.